


A Noiseless, Patient Spider

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Grief, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge 2020, Last day of school, Loss, Shock, just soft wives being soft, my kink is healthy supportive relationships, season four spoilers, week one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24581995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: Ada still feels disconnected. But she knows that Hecate will help her mend again, as always.
Relationships: Amelia Cackle | Ada Cackle/Hardbroom
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43
Collections: The Hackle Summer Trope Challenge





	A Noiseless, Patient Spider

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR FINALE.

Ada stares out the window of her office, hands in her sweater pockets as she looks the sky, which has been empty for quite some time—the last student flew off hours ago, and yet she’s still here. She can't seem to move, can't find the energy. She just...waits. Like a stone.

She feels the ripple of magic. Hears the single, soft click of her wife’s heel upon the hardwood floor, a tentative step towards her.

There’s a pause. Then, with sudden determination, Hecate is moving forward.

Still, she halts, just at Ada’s shoulder.

“Ada,” she says softly, as if she fears somehow shattering the woman all over again.

Ada closes her eyes against the thought. She can’t imagine what her wife went through, seeing that happen.

Except she can, in a way. She saw a piece of her own world shatter, watching helplessly as her sister chose self-destruction over imprisonment.

“Ada.” Hecate repeats, a little louder but still just as tender.

“I’m…trying,” Ada whispers. Trying to process, trying to find the words, trying to figure out what she’s even trying to express, trying to find the will to do _anything_ beyond stand here and stare blankly ahead—great goddess, she doesn’t know, but she does know that she’s _trying_.

Hecate seems to understand. Her hand rests on Ada’s shoulder for a beat, as if testing her reaction. Then, she shifts closer, standing behind her to fully wrap her arms around Ada’s chest, burrowing her chin into the curve of Ada’s right shoulder.

“Of course you are,” Hecate says simply, with gentle certitude, her voice half-muffled by Ada’s sweater.

Ada closes her eyes, bows her head under the weight of love and gratitude she feels, both in her own chest and radiating from her wife’s frame, as steady as a heartbeat.

Hecate shifts. Her right arm stays wrapped around Ada’s chest, as her left hand slips up, sliding through Ada’s hair to gently cradle the left side of her head, holding her in place as she turns and presses a solid, staying kiss on Ada’s right temple.

She holds her there, for a long pause. Ada can hear and feel her long, soft, grateful inhale, knows Hecate’s squeezing her eyes shut against another wave of emotion.

Ada wants to comfort her wife. She wants to move, to turn around and hold her, to assure her that everything’s alright, they’ve made it out again, they’re safe, it’s all alright—but she feels heavy, as heavy and lifeless as a stone.

Still, she tries. It takes far more effort than it should, getting her hand to move, to lightly place itself on Hecate’s right arm, still so tightly wrapped around her. Somehow, it is enough—Hecate makes a soft sound, melting further against her, holding her even more tightly (which Ada hadn’t thought possible, until now).

Hecate’s lips haven’t left Ada’s temple. There’s something strengthening in the contact. Ada finds it a little easier, getting her hand to move, to lightly follow the line of her wife’s arm, up and down again in a slow, comforting rhythm.

She thinks of being broken into bits again. It was like being underwater, both physically and emotionally—she could hear everything, could understand it, could feel some things physically as well, but there wasn’t an emotional response. Everything was muted, somehow unimportant, too far removed.

She feels that way again. Just…tired. Muted. Deep, deep underwater.

Hecate finally releases her kiss, but her lips stay close, brushing against Ada’s hair as she murmurs, “What do you need?”

“Just you.” Ada doesn’t need to consider the question, or her answer. She finds comfort in that—yes, some things haven’t changed, and that is good.

Hecate merely hums, as if she understands. And she does, Ada knows.

They stay there a beat longer. Hecate’s left hand slowly strokes through Ada’s hair, as if gently reminding herself that Ada’s here, Ada’s whole again and she’s here again.

“I’m tired,” Ada admits quietly. And goddess above, is she—tired of every year ending on some kind of high-adrenaline note, tired of regretting her decisions, tired of feeling that they’ve only barely made it, tired of finding new ways to lose the people she loves (yes, she _loves_ Agatha still, despite in all, and it hurts, still having all this love with suddenly nowhere to put it).

“Then let’s go rest,” Hecate returns simply. She steps back, giving Ada space to turn and face her. She gently takes Ada’s hands in her own and transfers them to their chambers.

She still touches Ada as if she fears the woman may shatter again. Undresses her with delicate hands and a keen eye, as if looking for some kind of sign, some kind of crack still in need of healing.

They slip under the covers, and Ada’s head spins a little—how different the world was, the last time they were in this bed, she thinks. Hecate is sliding closer, dark eyes wide and filled with concern as she pulls Ada into her again, wrapping arms and legs and as much of herself as possible around her wife.

Ada burrows closer, grateful for the soft warmth. Her forehead is pressed under the curve of Hecate’s jaw, she can feel the butterfly-wing light pulse of Hecate’s jugular against her skin. Hecate takes long, steady breaths, the rise and fall of her chest practically rocking Ada to sleep.

She should cry now, Ada thinks. She should mourn, grieve, do something, _anything_. But she doesn’t. She’s still half stone. Still numb, still trying to process, still trying to catch up. Still trying.

With a soft sigh, she tries to let go of her own sense of guilt. Hecate’s hands are moving again, lightly stroking over whatever part of Ada they can find, gentle yet grounding—as usual, her hands are exquisitely expressive, saying all the things that her tongue still struggles to articulate sometimes.

Ada clears her throat, makes sure her voice is loud enough to be heard, “I felt you, you know. Before. When you held me, when you tried to put me back together again.”

Hecate stills, obviously surprised by this new revelation. They haven’t truly talked about it yet; Ada hasn’t told her just how present she actually was, even if corporeally she was little more than a jumble of crystals.

“I…couldn’t feel anything, emotionally. But physically—I felt you,” she adds quietly.

Hecate makes a small noise. Distress or relief or simply shock, Ada isn’t sure. Hecate holds her tighter.

_I feel you still_ , she thinks. It feels less disconnected, now. She places a light kiss on Hecate’s collarbone.

Ada closes her eyes, settling further into the feeling. For all the things she’s currently too numb to feel, there is still the absolute certainty that she loves her wife. She wraps her arm around Hecate’s waist, pulls her closer. Hecate’s fingertips sink deeper into her skin, shifting slightly to place another small kiss on the side of Ada’s head.

She feels the way Hecate’s body stills. The way she prepares, chooses her words with such tender caution. As delicately as a spider, spinning a web.

“Ada,” she begins, saying her name the way she always does, like a prayer. “Ada, you do not…have to try, right now. It’s alright not to. It’s alright to…simply be.”

Ada understands what she’s trying to say: _You can break apart again, if you need to. I’ll be here, always. I’ll help you put the pieces back together, whenever you're ready. But you don't have to be ready, right now._

Now, Ada feels the first swell of tears. Like perhaps she really was waiting for permission. Or perhaps Hecate’s softness is slowly breaking her out of the stoniness of shock.

She lets out a long, low sigh. There’s a tinge of emotion, but more than anything, she just feels exhausted.

There’s a soft thump on the edge of the bed, followed by two light _mrrrowls?_ Their familiars have arrived, obviously alerted to Ada’s predicament—Pendle felt it, through his connection to his mistress, and Morgana, true to form, is simply worried because Pendle is worried. They slip further up the mattress, flopping against Ada’s back and nuzzling into her with heavy, rumbling purrs of comfort.

Hecate gives a soft little hum, pleased with her kittens’ level of care. Ada realizes that Morgana must also sense Hecate’s unease and worry, too.

She’s completely surrounded in love and care. The thought, and the sensation, cause her throat to tighten. She nuzzles into Hecate’s neck again, kissing the soft skin on her neck, thrumming with life and strength and quiet gratitude.

She’s beginning to feel again. Hecate’s fingertips, dragging lightly up her arm, create a soft tingling reaction. Yes, her body still reacts to Hecate’s touches, her heart still fills with love at the tenderness. She’s still tired, but now she feels as if she’s finally resting. She’s slowly being pulled back together again, she realizes.

And Hecate will hold her until it’s done. A noiseless, patient spider, slowly repairing the broken web, slowly weaving them back together again, slowly mending all of Ada’s rips and tears.


End file.
